


The Little Bit Of You I've Got, It Ain't Good Enough

by notthebigspoon



Series: Burn It To The Ground [2]
Category: Baseball RPF, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:45:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl wasn't really on board with bringing in a stranger and his two buddies, not considering that gang they were doing their damnedest not to meet. But now that Madison's with them, Daryl's having a hard time remembering life without him. He's also having a hard time keeping the lid on a part of himself that he's never shared with anyone.</p><p>Title taken from the song 5-1-5-0 by Dierks Bentley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Bit Of You I've Got, It Ain't Good Enough

Daryl has always been good at reading people, even as a child. He had a way of seeing into people and knowing who they were. It had always accounted for some of the beatings his old man dealt out. He hadn't been able to stand the way the, so he said, 'creepy little shit' stared at him. Daryl didn't want to be noticed, didn't want to stand out. He played dumb, pretended he didn't know who you were, _what_ you were, just by looking at you. He spent his school days fucking around and staring out windows, acing everything before dropping out when he was fifteen because it all just got too _boring_. That was the story of his life for the next twenty plus years. Doing anything, doing it exceptionally well, and moving on when it got too monotonous. He'd kill for that kind of monotony now. There's no starting over, not in the post-outbreak era.

Probably that was what made new travelers such a welcome change. It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell Rick no, don't let that man close, he's dangerous. But Rick hadn't listened and apparently, Rick had seen something there that made him feel that it was safe to trust this gigantic stranger. Daryl had wanted to scream, to lash out that it wasn't _safe_ , they were still hiding from a group that were almost as bad of monsters as the walkers, but Rick had said it wasn't a democracy anymore. He wouldn't listen anyways.

When Rick had affirmed that the kid's crew could join them for the night, Daryl had reached a wary hand for his handgun, eyes flicking around the camp to note the position of the women and the kid. But then the man, Madison Bumgarner he'd said, had whistled and motioned somewhere into the darkness. Two men, just like he said... but two children that he hadn't mentioned. Sleepy eyes that took the strangers in with unbridled curiosity. More important, though, was the look in Bumgarner's eyes watching them. Fierce love and protection, a look that promised he would destroy whatever and whoever necessary to keep these people safe.

They shared food, traded information, just as promised. When they'd exhausted all conversation and it was time to sleep, the men had pitched a tent a few yards away from the rest of the group and the skinny one with the long hair had kept watch, clutching a gun close to his chest and watching the camp with a distrust that told Daryl that once, this man had never known a stranger and now, the world consisted of nothing but strangers. In the morning, they shared more supplies and more stories. And they just never left.

It wasn't a bad arrangement. Of course, more mouths to feed and more backs to watch meant more work for everyone. But Bumgarner had proved to be a more than competent hunter, as good as Daryl. Lincecum, who Daryl had initially dismissed as clever but inherently useless, was a decent scavenger, finding things they needed and things that they might not need now, but in the future. Posey, on the other hand, mostly fished or helped Carol with things like the laundry, cooking, dressing the kills that Daryl and Bumgarner brought back.

The babies were his, Posey's, as it turned out. And when Bumgarner told him the story later of what happened to the children's mother, Daryl couldn't fault Posey for never wanting to let his babies out of his sight.

It's strange, really, the things that Madison tells him. Because that's who he became over the course of a few weeks, Madison. The best friend that Daryl has ever had, in spite of their age difference. The one person in the group other than Carol that would tell Daryl he was better than the past he allowed to define him, that he hid behind. Madison wasn't the sharing and caring type, but for some reason he had a way of getting Daryl to start talking. A way that he was making it okay for Daryl to share what was on his mind and tell why he said the things that he said.  
Just like when he called Daryl out for cracking a joke about Tim wanting to be Buster's girlfriend. He'd gotten Daryl to bare his soul, _again_ , and uncovered a metric ton of feelings that Daryl had spent decades hiding. The final kick in the gut had been Madison cuddling Addy, a look of pure love on his face and Daryl had wanted so _so_ desperately for Madison to look at _him_ like that. He'd inhaled sharply and just stared down at Lee like the infant held the answers to the meaning of life. Lee blinked, clearly kid mime for nap, and they'd fallen asleep together slumped in the lawn chair.

Now, hours later, he's woken up to Buster picking Lee up with an amused smirk. “Supper's near 'bout ready, Carol said to let you know. Thanks for babysitting Lee.”

“Just don't make it a habit of botherin' me with yer spawn.” Daryl mutters, stalking to his tent to fish out some wet wipes Glenn had found and 'wash up' for supper. For all his affected agitation, he felt aggravatingly pleased with himself. It was like he'd passed some sort of test. Madison trusted him. Madison's two best friends, hell, the only friends the kid had left, trusted him with the most precious things they had left in the world.

He spends most of dinner pushing his beans around his tin plate before shoveling it into his mouth and tossing the plate aside. He can't take the way the these people keep watching him and smiling, like they _know_ something about him all of a sudden. They don't know shit, and it makes him angry, because none of them ever bothered to look beyond what they had decided for themselves what he was without ever bothering to find out what the truth was.

It's his night for watch and he grabs a gun and his crossbow, climbing to the highest point of the hollow they've nestled themselves in until it's necessary to move in, perched on one of the lower branches of a broad elm tree. The night is fairly silent except for the quiet sounds of the camp that he's grown accustomed to. The sky is clear and there's a slight breeze that sets the leaves of the elm rustling in the wind. Daryl slouches against the trunk of the tree, almost wishing he could close his eyes and really enjoy the moment.

Instead, he sits up straighter and scans the perimeter again. Still nothing. He'd never known that monotony could be this great. Daryl chuckles to himself, unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it into his mouth. He blows a bubble, slow and round and perfect and laughs again when it pops.

“If I knew that was all it took to make you happy, I'd have given you gum the night we met.”

Daryl jumps and then glares down at Tim, who scales the tree with a monkey like ease. “The hell do you want? Ain't you supposed to be sleeping? Ain't nobody gonna cover your ass when it's your turn for watch and if you get someone killed, I'll kill _you_.”

Tim waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah yeah yeah, I'm not up for three or four days, nice try though. Look, I heard what you said about me. Don't bother apologizing, I heard worse shit and more before the world fell apart.”

“Then why the hell you bringing it up?”

“I'm thinking that maybe you need to take a closer look at yourself. I like Posey, he's a great guy. One of my favorite teammates-”

“Teammates?”

“Another story for another time. And he was one of my best friends before. He is my best friend, him and Bum both. I'd throw myself down for either one of them and for his kids. But me and Posey? It's probably not ever going to go where you were suggesting I wanted it to.”

Daryl huffs. “You call us by our first names but each other by their last names. The fuck is up with that?”

“Part of the other story. Stop deflecting.” Tim sighs, rubbing his face. “Look, don't punch me or anything, but I'm pretty sure you were chumming the water. And just so you know, you've got a shot.”

It's quiet for a few minutes. Daryl is looking anywhere but at Tim. At the perimeter, at his crossbow, at the flickering firelight of the camp. Tim, that little shit, is whistling and swinging his feet like some kind of damned kid. He just doesn't get it. How the hell have these guys that he's only known a few weeks, figured him out so easily?

“Man, you don't know nothin'.”

“I know more than you think. Me, Posey, Bum, our job before Day Zero, it wasn't a forgiving one. There were a lot of guys with a lot of secrets. But if you studied them, sometimes you could figure it out. I'm not saying I've figured you out, wouldn't make that claim. But I know that Bum trusts you, and he doesn't trust assholes. You're a nice guy, Dixon, whether anyone else sees it or not. And, well, really, when Bum goes for guys, he goes for the good ol' boy type. So... go get 'em tiger.” Tim chuckles, slipping out of the tree with ease.

“You little shit!”

Tim just pumps his fist in the air, laughing as he jogs back to the camp. “G'NIGHT DIXON!”


End file.
